


Bide

by inkstrain (orphan_account)



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/inkstrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoi is the one who waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bide

It isn't always sad. Sometimes he's hopeful too, if the sun is shining so brightly that it melts the sky blue. If there are enough cigarettes left in the box he bought two days before. If recording finished earlier than expected. If not only the manager accepts his invitation to go out and get dinner. And if he's around and paying attention. 

But there are moments when things are bleak. Sometimes he's unhappy, especially when it's raining so hard he can barely see the sky. When he needs to smoke but his cigarettes have run out. When they're arguing about tracks they thought were done. When his dinner plans get cancelled altogether. And when he's not paying attention at all, even though he's right there. 

  


_The world doesn't revolve around you_ , Uruha had told him in exasperation one time, a little confused by his neediness. 

Aoi had only shrugged at those words before answering, mouth cradling his cigar in the same gentle manner he often cradled those lips. _Of course not. It revolves around you, or at least mine does._

  


And if he could, he certainly would: take them away from the city and forget this band ever existed. Just for a few days, maybe two tops. It won't satisfy him, but it'll have to do. Certainly better than nothing. Hours at the studio and in conference rooms take away so much time.

  


_From what?_ Uruha had asked him curiously once, not understanding why time at work isn't the same as time off it even though they're together on both instances.

Aoi had simply leaned forward, forehead finding a collarbone and hand resting against a pale neck - inhaling all of him into his lungs. _From being able to do this._

  


Because it isn't enough, and loneliness often does a great job of clawing at his insides and turning everything there into mucky waste. He's rotting and he can't wither, not yet. Not until...

  


_"Aoi," Uruha whispers, irises like starless midnight, fingers tracing faint laugh lines with a gentleness reserved only for things that are kept forever. His hips continue to move, rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm, but he only repeats himself. "Aoi..."_

_Aoi reaches up to tangle his calluses on perfectly ruined tresses, moaning and growling and_ begging _Uruha to-_

_"Say it, just say it!"_

_And they disintegrate together, the makings of a story or a song, maybe a poem, or the stars._

_But Uruha says nothing._

  



End file.
